


Choices

by bitchin_beskar



Category: The Mandalorian
Genre: AU, F/M, Inspired by Beauty and the Beast, Star Wars - Freeform, and artwork on tumblr, clan leader!din, the mandalorian - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-22
Updated: 2020-07-22
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:08:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25451422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bitchin_beskar/pseuds/bitchin_beskar
Summary: Life in the village was boring. Normal, but boring. But when a Mandalorian arrives and asks you to come with him, everything changes.
Relationships: Din Djarin/Reader, Din Djarin/You, Paz Vizla/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 20
Kudos: 87





	Choices

**Author's Note:**

> Whew. This took longer than I was anticipating, but I’m pretty happy with the result! This is a ClanLeader!Din AU, inspired by @magichandthing‘s amazing artwork on Tumblr, and also inspired by the 2017 remake of Disney’s Beauty and the Beast. This will be a multi-chapter fic, and while I hope to get the next chapter out in a week or so, I make no promises! I hope you guys like it! 
> 
> *This fic will be rated M, but Chapter 1 has a T rating*

“Will you open the stall today?”

You look up as you hear your father’s voice calling from outside in the garden. You wipe your hands off on your apron, the streaks of white flour maring the blue fabric. Stepping out into the sunlight, you see your father standing by the door, his medical bag slung over one shoulder.

“One of the children in a nearby village is sick, so I can’t go into town today. Will you go in and open up the stall for a little while? I promised some of the children that I would have new toys for them today, but I likely won’t be back before sundown.” 

“Of course, Papá. Go! I’ll be fine.” He grins at you, kissing your forehead as you step forward to hug him. “Be safe!” You wave as he climbs into the speeder and drives off in the direction of the neighboring village.

You head back inside to clean up the mess in the kitchen. You were going to spend the day baking, but now that you’ll be in town, you’ll have to save the baking for tomorrow. After you quickly clean up, you grab your father’s toy satchel, filled with all of the new wooden toys he’s carved for the children of the village, and head into town. The walk isn’t far and it’s nice out today, the suns shining down, causing the morning dew to shimmer on the leaves of the trees and the blades of grass. 

You stop along the path to pick a few wildflowers, tucking them into the pocket on your apron. Old Nan loves them, and you figure she can put them in a small vase in her home, or on display at her stall. She mostly sells knitted things, but occasionally she sells jam and honey, and she’s always willing to trade some with you for a few pretty flowers. 

As the village comes into view, you see a few of the children running about and playing in the fields. You wave, and they come running over excitedly. The children of the village love you and your Papá, unlike most of the adults. They love the toys your Papá creates, and they don’t mind that you prefer reading and baking to finding a husband. Children do not judge others for their choices, their innocence bright and refreshing. 

“Miss! Miss! Are you going to open the stall?” One of the children, Atleah, gasps excitedly, her little hands clutching at your skirts. She has many little toys and wooden gadgets from you and your Papá, and she always wants more. “Please, please,  _ please _ open the stall! Eddarth said you had new toys!”

The boy standing next to her, her brother Eddarth, grinned unashamedly. You smile softly, pressing a hand against the soft hair on Atleah’s head to calm her. “Is Eddie telling tales?” You remark aloud, and you fight back a giggle as Atleah frowns. “I cannot remember if there is anything new for me to put at the stall…” You trail off, and Atleah tugs you along behind her as she practically drags you into the village, towards the marketplace. 

“But Miss!” She protests, tugging on the straps of your satchel. “Miss, you have the toy bag, so that must mean you have new toys!” She reasons, expression pleading, and you’re unable to keep up the facade.

“Oh! I  _ do _ remember! Papá made a few new toys, some speeders and ships I believe.” Atleah squeals in excitement, and doubles down in her efforts to drag you to the stall. You’re laughing by the time you arrive, surrounded on all sides by excitable children. They wait impatiently for you to open up the stall, unlocking the cases and placing your wares out on display. 

Atleah immediately finds the toy she wants, a small replica of a sand crawler, complete with little Jawa figurines. You’d lived your whole life here on Roon, but your father had grown up on a moisture farm on Tatooine, and the children loved to hear stories of a planet covered in sand, so unlike the planet they’d been born on. 

You allow the children to pick their toys, bending down so each one can whisper their secret into your ear as payment. You watch amused as the children settle in the grass not too far from your stall, already coming up with games that they can play with their new wares. 

The children were usually the only ones to visit your stall, although occasionally adults would come to request your Papá’s medical skills for their families. The adults of the village didn’t like you or your Papá all that much. You were tolerated, but that was about it. You knew what they thought of you, that your Papá had allowed you too much independence, that you’d never settle down and become the good little housewife that was expected of the women in the village. They thought your Papá a touch mad, a little crazy because he preferred to make toys and gadgets all day, instead of using his skills as a medic to become rich. 

Old Nan wandered over to your stall, one of her knitted shawls wrapped tightly around her bony shoulders. She was half blind, but she enjoyed holding your Papá’s toys in her hands, feeling the carvings and details with her old fingers. As she approached, you pulled the bouquet of wildflowers out of your apron, tying them together with a spare piece of string. 

“Oh, dear girl, you shouldn’t have.” Her voice was warm, filled with affection as she accepted the flowers from you. “You spoil this old lady so.” She gently brought the flowers to her face, breathing in the scent.

“I like to think of it as a fair trade,” you offered, grinning. “A beautiful bouquet of flowers for a beautiful woman, in exchange for a little bit of delicious honey and jam.” Old Nan swatted at you playfully, her lips pulling back over her teeth in a delighted grin.

“You’re such a charmer, dear girl, how have none of the boys in this gods-forsaken village swept you off your feet?”

You’re about to answer when a large hand slams down on the wooden surface of your stall, startling the both of you and knocking some of your Papá’s creations over. 

“She likes to play hard to get, spinster. Isn’t that right, my treasure?” 

Glaring at the hulking figure before you, you straighten the toys he knocked over. “I am not your treasure, Gallan. I do not belong to anyone, least of all you, and I never will.” You smack his hand away as he tries to touch you. “And it is rude to refer to your elders in such a manner. Apologize.” 

He grunts an apology that both you and Old Nan know isn’t sincere, but you take what you can get. “I don’t understand why you keep turning me down,  _ treasure _ ,” he drawls, grinning even as you grimace. “There’s no finer husband on all of Roon than myself, surely your fool of a father can see that. It’s only a matter of time before he agrees to give me your hand.” 

“I am not a possession to be bartered for, Gallan. My Papá has agreed that I do not have to marry if I do not wish it. And even if I did wish to marry someone, it  _ wouldn’t be you _ .” Turning so your back is to him, you attempt to begin a conversation with Old Nan, hoping Gallan would just leave, but he is not so easily dissuaded.

There is suddenly a tight grip around your wrist, and Gallan roughly yanks you back, spinning you around so you’re facing him. You tug uselessly against his grip, cringing back as he runs a finger down the side of your face. 

“You’ll give in to me eventually, my treasure. There’s no other woman in the village who can compare to your beauty. I won’t accept anyone else as my wife. You  _ will _ be mine,” he all but growls, bringing his face closer to yours. You try to turn away, but his grip is too tight. You know none of the other villagers will step in to help you. With the exception of Old Nan, they all love Gallan, and many of the women are jealous of the attention he lavishes on you, unwanted as it may be. 

“Let go of me!” Your voice is loud, angry, but he only laughs as you try to escape him. “Gallan, let me go!”

He laughs mockingly. “Who’s gonna  _ make  _ me?” 

“She said to  _ let her go _ ."

Gallan is startled by the harsh voice behind him, and he whirls around, unfortunately dragging you with him. Standing in front of your stall is a Mandalorian. Your eyes widen in shock. You knew there was a Mandalorian covert not far from the village, but they rarely ventured into town. When they did come to buy supplies, they came in twos, and never the same ones as before. You thought it might have something to do with diversion tactics, never allow the enemy to know how many are in your command or something similar. You knew the Mandalorians were a warrior race, so it wouldn’t surprise you. 

Your Papá had traded some medical supplies with the covert a couple of times, so you’d seen some of them the few times they’d appeared on your doorstep, but almost never in the town square or marketplace. You did not fear the Mandalorians, like many of the other villagers, but even you had to admit the one in front of you was intimidating. 

He–well, you assumed it was a he, it was hard to tell–stood close to six feet tall. His armor was made of beskar, gleaming silver in the sunlight. It covered his chest, back, arms and legs, and where he didn’t have armor, he had thick canvas fabric leaving his skin completely covered. He had multiple blades strapped all over his body, along with a pistol of some sort holstered at his side. He had some type of contraption on his back–in addition to the weapon that looked to be some kind of long range rifle–and it looked to you as though it was a jetpack. His arms were crossed and his helmet gave nothing away, but you could tell by the tilt that he was focused on Gallan, not you. 

“You have no business here,  _ Mandalorian _ ,” Gallan spat, his grip tightening around your wrist, and you winced as you felt the bones creak under his grip. “Go back and hide in your dingy, damp little caves. No one wants you here.” Gallan had a sneer on his face, and you wondered how any of the girls in this village could find this man handsome. 

“I believe the young woman wants you to let her go.” The Mandalorian did not move, and he certainly did not sound at all intimidated by Gallan. “So  _ let. her. go.”  _

Gallan’s grip slackened just enough at the hidden threat in the Mandalorian’s voice that you were able to yank your wrist free. Cradling your quickly bruising and sore wrist to your chest, you rubbed the tender skin as you backed away from Gallan. Emboldened by the presence of a Mandalorian, you spoke once more. “Leave, Gallan. Do not speak to me again.” 

He looked you up and down, a lewd, lecherous grin stretching across his lips. “I’ll be back, treasure. One of these days, I’ll wear your father down. Make no mistake, you will be  _ mine _ .” You glared at him, angrily watching him leave, before turning to your savior. 

Before you could speak, the Mandalorian stepped forward, holding his hand out. “May I?” He asked, when you didn’t move. Blinking, you placed your hand in his, watching as he inspected your wrist. “Did he hurt you?”

Old Nan grumbled, and you started, nearly having forgotten she was there. “That boy has got some nerve,” she huffed, shuffling forward, uncaring of the big, hulking Mando. “Grabbing you like that. How many times has he done that, dear child?” 

You sighed. Old Nan was perhaps the only adult in the village who didn’t dislike you or your Papá, and while she may not have approved of Gallan, she was the only one. Everyone else seemed to think you were blessed to have his attention, or some other such nonsense. “He seems to think I am his property, just because he’s decided I’m the prettiest girl in the village,” you grumbled to Old Nan, and she tutted disapprovingly. “He’s never been all that violent, just… aggressive in his  _ affection _ , if you can call it that.” 

You had a feeling the Mandalorian was looking at you incredulously, although with his helmet you couldn’t know for sure. “He nearly dislocated your wrist.” He finished inspecting your hand before lowering it slowly. “This has happened before?” You nodded.

“He’ll leave bruises on my arms from grabbing me too hard, and once he shoved me against a wall so hard I had a bump on the back of my head.” 

Old Nan gasped, and you winced, you’d forgotten she hadn’t known about that particular incident. “Why?” Her voice was quiet, and she had tears in her eyes. 

“Um, well…” You trailed off, grimacing. “I may have… laughed at him when his mogo threw him while he was trying to show off.” Old Nan snorted, trying to stifle a grin.

The Mandalorian shook his head. “He should not have harmed you, even then.” You shrugged, fiddling with one of the toys your Papá had carved. “How much for those?” This Mandalorian was giving you whiplash with the way he seemed to jump from conversation to conversation. 

“Do you mean the toys?” You asked, and when he nodded, you eyed him up and down critically. “Depends on who they’re for. I’ll sell them to travelers and tourists, but I have a bartering system set up with the village children. Why?”

He sighed, and the harsh static of his vocoder crackled with the noise. “Will you come with me?” He raised his hands up, palms facing you in a gesture of peace. “No harm will come to you, I swear. Bring the toys.” You contemplated for a second, before the pieces fell into place. You nodded, and after you placed them carefully in a satchel, he began to lead you out of the village, but not before you bid Old Nan good day. You walked at his side, relishing in the fact that for once, the villagers were staring, but it wasn’t because of you. 

As you began to leave the village behind, he stopped, before turning his helmet towards you. You stopped as well, and waited for him to speak. “May I blindfold you?” You weren’t all that surprised by his request. From the little you knew of the Mandalorians, you knew they were insanely private. While you knew of the existence of the covert, you knew very little about it. You had no idea how many Mandalorians there were, although you suspected at the very least there were children, due to his request about the toys. 

Nodding, you watched as he produced a strip of black fabric, and you allowed him to gently wrap it around your face, covering your eyes and causing your vision to go dark. “Can you see anything?” You shook your head. “I’ll need to fly us there. May I…?” You could hear the unspoken question in his voice, and you nodded. You were nervous about flying without being able to see, but it would be rude to refuse now. 

You felt one of his arms brace against the small of your back as his other slid beneath your knees, pulling your legs out from underneath you as he stood, cradling your body in his arms. You can feel your face heat up under the blindfold, even though nothing he’s doing could be considered inappropriate or indecent–unless you considered that it was customary for husbands to carry their wives from the altar to their homestead in such a manner, and you’d never imagined you would experience it–although if your Papá saw you now you were sure that he’d have questions.

He’s about to take off when you think of something. “What should I call you?” As he stays silent, you elaborate. “It doesn’t have to be your actual name, but I feel rude just referring to you as Mandalorian.” 

You don’t think he’s going to answer you, but then he speaks, just before activating his jetpack. “Din. My name is Din Djarin.”

You don’t have a chance to respond before the jetpack fires up, and then you’re airborne. You clutch at Din’s armor as best you can, although with how tight his grip is, you’re pretty confident you won’t fall. The wind whips your hair around your face, and you tuck your chin, turning your face into his chest to protect your skin from the harsh, biting cold from being so high up.

The wind combined with the noise of the jetpack makes it too loud for conversation, so he flies in silence, although admittedly not for very long. You can feel the change in the wind as you begin to descend, and before long, your body is jolted as Din lands with a soft thud.

He gently lowers you to the ground, and you’re somewhat surprised at the gentleness of his movements, in spite of his size and the bulky nature of his armor. Once you’re standing on your own two feet, you sway slightly, disoriented due to your blindfold and the–admittedly short–flight. His hands on your arms steady you for a moment, before turning you and gently leading you forward.

You stumble along next to him for a few moments, but then he pauses, and slowly the fabric is removed from over your eyes. You blink rapidly as your eyes adjust to the dim lighting surrounding you. You’re underground, or at least, it looks like you are. The walls are some kind of smooth stone, and the hallway stretching out in front of you is lit by gas lanterns hung from the ceiling. The lanterns are the only source of light, but it doesn’t feel dark and oppressive, like you imagined a cave might feel. The walls and floors are clean of any moisture, and you feel a vicious sense of pleasure that Gallan had misjudged the Mandalorian covert’s home so spectacularly. 

“Are you alright?” You turn to look at Din, and with your eyes still adjusting, it takes you a moment to find his helmet, so that you could look at him.

“Yes, I’m fine. This is where the covert stays, I take it?” 

He nods once. “I’ll be taking you straight to the children. The adults will likely be cautious, but the children less so.” 

You shrug. “It’s a dynamic I’m used to,” you offer as you begin to follow him down the hallway. You think you hear Din say something, but his voice is too quiet to make out any distinguishable words.

“I need to warn you,” he says, pausing before a huge metal door, turning towards you. “Inside the covert, things are a bit… different. We wear our full beskar out in public, but in our home, we’re more… relaxed.” 

You nod, before fear grips you. “Wait, do they know you’re bringing me? I don’t want you to get into trouble, bringing an outsider into your home–” Din cuts you off with a chuckle, his leather-covered palm resting squarely in the middle of your back.

“ _ Sarad’ika _ , calm down. I wouldn’t have brought you here without making sure it was alright with the Clan Leader, don’t worry. He knows you’re coming, and he’s fine with it.” You nodded, your heartbeat calming slightly. But then you paused.

“Wait, what did you just call me?” 

Din chuckled once more. “Don’t worry, it’s nothing bad. It’s just what the others call you. One of the clan members saw you with a flower crown one day, and so the children began to call you  _ Sarad’ika _ . It means little flower.” 

Nodding a little distractedly, you watched as Din opened the door. The covert had a nickname for you? You could count on one hand the number of times you’d met a Mandalorian, so you were a little shocked to learn they all seemed to know who you were. 

As you followed him into what turned out to be a large circular room, your eyes widened in shock. Near the ceiling, natural light streamed in, basking the weathered walls in warm sunlight. There was a large common area in the middle of the room, with tables and chairs and rugs of all shapes and sizes. There were multiple doors lining the walls, some open, some shut. Din led you into the middle of the room, towards a small group sitting on one of the rugs. When one of the beings turned, you could see that it was a child, no older than Atleah or Eddarth, wearing a beskar helmet. You heard the gasp as the child saw you, and you were suddenly surrounded on all sides by children, not unlike this morning in the village.

“ _ Sarad’ika! Sarad’ika! _ ” The children chanted as they surrounded you. One child tugs on your hand, leading you towards the rug they’d just vacated, pulling you down to sit with them, and the one adult Mandalorian, who had stayed seated. The children are wearing clothes similar to the children from your village, which makes sense you suppose. But the adult Mandalorian isn’t wearing full beskar, like Din is. She has her helmet on, but she’s wearing a pair of leather trousers and a soft-looking tunic, with her arms completely bare all the way up to her shoulders. She has tattoos covering every inch of exposed skin, thick black lines in sharp patterns that stand out against her bronze skin. She nods to you as you sit, and you think you hear her chuckle when one of the children plops down in your lap.

You feel the air rush out of your lungs as the child falls into your lap–sweet heavens the child is bigger than they think they are–but you hide it well. The helmet tilts up at you, and the sweet, innocent voice that floats out is only slightly marred by the vocoder.

“ _ Sarad’ika _ , did you bring the toys? Din said he was gonna ask!” 

Even though you can’t see his face, you can imagine the expression on it clear as day, pleading, bright-eyed and hopeful. You tap your chin thoughtfully, and look around at the other children all waiting eagerly. “Perhaps. But I can’t just give toys out for free you know. They’re going to cost something.” Your words don’t deter the children at all, if anything they seem even more eager.

“How much?” 

The question comes from a little girl to your left, her small hands resting gently on your thigh. You smile. These children are no different from the others you’re used to. It’s nice to know childish innocence and wonder are universal.

“Oh, you can’t buy these toys with just any money.” You lean in conspiratorially, and the children are captivated. “I like to deal in secrets.” You can tell the children are confused, so you continue, your voice low. “In order to buy one of my toys, you must first tell me a secret about yourselves. Something no one else knows.” 

There are gasps all around, and you can tell they’re excited. “I’ll go first, so you know how it goes,” you offer, and the children shuffle even closer. “Sometimes, when my Papá is asleep, I’ll get up and dance around the kitchen and pretend I’m a queen in a fancy dress at a grand party!”

There’s giggles all around and the children begin to tell you their ‘secrets’ one by one. Braan, the little boy in your lap, likes to draw the constellations from memory. Tehra, the little girl on your left, likes to use sticks as staffs and pretend she’s battling invading armies. Quantra and Quentyan, twins, like to sneak to the kitchens some nights and try to wheedle snacks out of the cooks–which only works every other day or so, they inform you–to bring back to their friends. Cleolyta likes to design different styles of armor, and Nekhan loves to balance different and oddly shaped rocks to make the tallest–and coolest looking–towers. 

As the children tell you their ‘secrets’ you pull toys from your satchel, allowing the children to take the ones that draw their attention. Within just a couple of minutes, each of the children are holding wooden toys carved by your Papá’s hand. They’ve quickly become distracted by the toys, and most all of the children move off a little ways to begin playing.

“Secrets are an interesting form of payment.” 

You look up at the Mandalorian who spoke to you, seeing the woman with tattooed arms has moved closer, and is now sitting directly across from you. It’s hard, you realize, having a conversation with someone when you can’t see their face. It’s difficult to judge emotions, and you hadn’t realized just how much you relied on facial tics and expressions until now. 

She continues, since you haven’t responded. “Do you normally deal in non-traditional forms of currency?” 

“Only with the children.” You’re making a conscious effort to not fiddle with your apron, to not show your nervousness. “Tourists and visitors from other villages have to pay in coin.” 

“Why?”

You shrug. “Not all of the children in my village have the spare coin to be able to purchase frivolous things such as toys. By bartering with secrets, they are still able to receive toys, without feeling as though they’re just being given handouts.” “Hmm.” 

The Mandalorian is silent for a moment, before she speaks again. “I never thought I’d see the day we allowed an  _ aruetti _ into our covert. Many of the others were against allowing you to come. They can’t go against the Clan Leader directly, but they weren’t exactly subtle about their displeasure.”

You don’t know what  _ aruetti _ means, but you can guess it’s not something nice. Din had told you not to worry, that their Clan Leader had given permission for you to be here, but if everyone else  _ didn’t _ want you here, it would probably be best if you just left–

“Not me though. It’s nice to meet someone outside the covert. I’m Jeyenha, Jeyenha Torrva, but everyone calls me Jeye.” 

Your eyes flick up to stare at the visor in front of you, before falling to the outstretched hand. You cautiously place your hand into hers, unsurprised at the firmness of her handshake. Her sudden mood shift is a little startling, but you don’t have any other choice than to run with it. 

You offer your own name back, and the two of you sit once more in silence, observing the children playing around you. It’s enjoyable, watching them play so eagerly with your father’s little wooden creations that you’re once again surprised when Jeye speaks.

“Your wrist. What happened?” 

Her helmet is tilted down, focused on your hands, which are folded in your lap. You look down, unsurprised to see how dark the bruise has already gotten, the individual finger marks clearly visible. You wince, already wondering how you’re going to hide this from your father. 

“Some  _ shabuir _ in her village doesn’t understand the word no, apparently.” 

There’s a quiet  _ thunk _ as Din sits down next to the two of you. Even sitting, his armor makes him look huge, almost to the point of being comical. 

“ _ What _ ?” Jeye’s voice was a low hiss, emphasized strongly by her vocoder. “Someone in your  _ village _ did this?” 

You nodded slowly, surprised at the venom in her voice. “There’s a man in my village who’s determined to make me his wife, and he doesn’t care that I don’t wish to marry him.”

Din scoffs. “Saying he doesn’t care about your wishes is an understatement. He acted like he could force you into marriage, like he would do so even without your father’s blessing.”

When you don’t say anything, Din falls silent. Jeye leans forward, placing her hand on your knee. 

“ _ Sarad’ika _ –”

Din barely finishes saying your nickname when you look up, tears in your eyes. “He  _ could _ . Gallan is one of the richest men in the village. The villagers don’t respect me, and they only barely tolerate my father because he’s a decent medic. Soon Gallan’s going to tire of hearing no, and there’s not one person in my village who would be willing to try and stand up to him.” You brush roughly at your tears, laughing bitterly. “They’ll likely drag me to the altar themselves, all while saying it’s such a  _ blessing _ that Gallan would even pay attention to me.”

Din growls, the leather of his gloves creaking as his hands form into fists, and Jeye breathes a quiet “ _ No _ …” at your words. You take a few steadying breaths, shaking your head. 

“It’s not happened yet, and I doubt it’s going to happen soon. For right now at least, Gallan respects my father enough that he’ll wait for his blessing, although my father would likely die before doing so. The best I can do is keep my head down and try to convince him that one of the other women in the village would make a better wife.” 

It’s clear that Din and Jeye don’t know what to say. You doubt that a Mandalorian woman would allow a man to speak to her the way Gallan speaks to you, and you doubt a Mandalorian man would ever try and claim a wife against her will. 

“You’re welcome here,” Jeye offers suddenly, and you look at her, confused. “I’m sure Din, or Paz, or one of the others wouldn’t mind bringing you here whenever you aren’t busy in your village, and it would decrease the amount of time that  _ mir’osik _ could hassle you.” 

Before you can say anything, you see Din nodding solemnly. “If bringing you here every day stops him from pursuing you, then I’d be happy to do it.” 

You feel tears well up in your eyes, but for a different reason this time. These two wonderful people are offering you an escape, offering up the security of their home so that you might be able to feel safer. “I–I don’t know what to say…”

“Say yes,  _ Sarad’ika _ . Just say yes.” Din’s voice is insistent. 

You find yourself nodding, before you’re struck by a stray thought. “W–Wait, would your Clan Leader be okay with this? I don’t want to impose or cause any more trouble, and–”

Jeye holds up her hand to stop your rambling, chuckling. “Don’t worry about him.” She seems to glance at Din for a moment before continuing. “I can’t imagine he’ll have any problems with you staying. But it’s getting late, you should be headed back.”

You hadn’t realized it, but as you look up at the ceiling, you see the dusky pink light indicative of the sunsets on Roon. Your Papá would be home soon, and he’d worry if you were gone for too long. Din stands, and offers you a hand, pulling you onto your feet. As you say goodbye to Jeye, you find yourself excited at the prospect of returning. You think you might have made two new friends, and you honestly feel more welcome in the Mandalorian covert than you ever did in your home village.

* * *

Over the course of the next few weeks, you find yourself spending hours of nearly every day in the covert. Your Papá was cautious at first, and he insisted on meeting Din, but after Din assured your Papá that you weren’t in any danger, he was more understanding. Your Papá knew how frustrating it could be for you in the village, constantly having to deal with snide insults and veiled barbs about anything from your body, to your manners, to your personality. The covert became an escape of sorts, and while you really only ever talked with Jeye, Din, and the children, it was much better than spending your time in the village.

You’d not met the Clan Leader yet, although both Din and Jeye assured you that he was fine with your presence. Din always acted strange whenever the Clan Leader was brought up, and you couldn’t for the life of you figure out why. 

You also never saw Din as relaxed as Jeye, although you attributed that to the fact that he had to leave the covert to pick you up and to take you back to your home. The beskar armor seemed too heavy and cumbersome to be taken off and put back on multiple times a day. 

And even though you tried to avoid it, you couldn’t deny your growing attraction to Din. Even when he wasn’t carrying you in his arms to bring you to and from the covert, he always seemed to be touching you, whether it was a hand against the small of your back, or on your thigh when you were sat next to him, or even just gently brushing against the wrist that Gallan had bruised, although the bruise had long since faded. You slowly grew accustomed to his touches, although you still felt as though your face was on fire every time he did.

You couldn’t tell if he knew what he was doing to you–damn helmet–but you assumed he could. He always seemed to touch you even more whenever you got flustered, almost as if it was a joke, or a game. One time, when he was guiding you into the covert while your eyes were blindfolded, he’d laid his hand against the side of your neck, his thumb pressing gently, but firmly, into your spine where your head met your neck. You swore you felt a jolt of electricity shoot through your body at his touch, and the man had the gall to ask if you were alright, all while his other fingers pressed into the skin right above your collarbone. You’d nodded jerkily, and his thumb had begun to rub soothing circles against your skin. It had felt so good, you’d almost whimpered when he removed his hand.

Despite the firm touches and the subtle flirting–because seriously, what else could it be–you managed to not make a fool of yourself, and you grew to like your new routine. Din had become a protector of sorts, and it made your insides feel light and floaty, the way you felt the first time Din flew with you. Life was good. Gallan left you alone, your Papá continued to carve toys, and for the first time ever, it felt like you’d found somewhere that you were wanted. So, of course, everything had to change.

It was about a month into your visits to the covert that this change happened. You were in the kitchen one morning when you noticed that there was a Mandalorian walking up the path to your home, but it’s not Din. You dry your hands and step outside, an anxious, gnawing feeling in your stomach telling you that something’s wrong. Din has been the one to pick you up every day, and you’re terrified something’s happened to him.

Before you can even open your mouth to voice your concerns, the Mandalorian is speaking. “Everything’s fine, Din just had some business to attend to, so he sent me.”

You cock an eyebrow, a little wary of how fast this stranger assessed your emotions, but you’re grateful nothing appears to be wrong. He stands there, silently, and you get the impression he’s waiting on you. You duck back inside the house to grab your bag, locking the door behind you. The Mando in front of you is just radiating this awkward energy, and you feel bad. You’d grown so used to Din, you didn’t really know how to react to a different Mandalorian. 

“Um, so…” You trail off, grimacing at how awkward you sound. “Do I just–” You stopped yourself, shaking your head. “I’m sorry. What’s your name?” 

The Mandalorian was silent for just a moment, but then he answered. “Paz.” 

Your eyes widened, recognizing the name. “Oh, Din and Jeye have both mentioned you before. It’s nice to meet you.” 

Paz shook his head. “Of course they did.” He chuckled. “Jeye is my wife.” 

Your jaw dropped. Whenever Jeye had talked about Paz, she’d never mentioned that he was her husband. You were  _ so _ going to give her shit for this. 

After Paz finished laughing at you, he tied your blindfold and scooped you up in his arms, taking off into the air. The entire flight, you couldn’t help but compare Paz to Din. Paz was a good deal bigger than Din, although you weren’t entirely sure how that was possible. His arms were big and strong, like Din’s, but being carried by Paz didn’t set butterflies loose in your stomach. You tried to ignore it, but your brain refused to stop trying to compare the two men. 

You were tense the entire ride to the covert, and you nearly sighed in relief when the two of you touched down. Paz set you on your feet, leading you into the cave system. He removed the blindfold when the two of you were standing in front of the main door, and he let you adjust to the lighting before he pulled the door open.

As he led you into the main room, you were surprised to see a large group of Mandalorians gathered where you usually sat with Din and Jeye. You were even more surprised when Paz suddenly stepped in front of you, his arm out slightly, keeping you behind his considerable bulk. You gently touched the back plate of his armor, silently communicating your confusion. 

“Stay behind me.” 

You suck in a breath, fear gripping you as you try to make yourself smaller behind Paz. You’re not sure what’s going on, and you don’t want to take any chances. You take a small measure of comfort from the fact that Paz is built like a goddamn tank, and that he could easily protect you if things turn violent, but you hope it doesn’t come to that. You can hear all the raised voices, but it takes you a moment to make out any distinguishable words, everyone is yelling too loudly. 

“SHE’S A DANGER TO OUR TRIBE!”

The booming voice cuts through the others, and you barely peek around Paz’s arm to see a Mando you’d seen a couple times before–one who always seemed to be glaring at you, despite the fact that you couldn’t actually  _ see _ said glare–toe to toe with another Mandalorian. 

“She poses no threat to us.”

The other Mandalorian is calm, although his voice is hard with anger. With a start, you realize that this must be the Clan Leader. His chest is bare, although he’s adorned with multiple beaded necklaces. You can see a thick fur cape draped across his shoulders, but it’s his helmet that truly catches your attention. It’s made of beskar, like all the other Mando’s helmets, but attached to each side are two thick ivory horns, coming out and curving around towards his face, ending in wicked sharp points. He’s taller than nearly everyone else in the group, and his stance is commanding and powerful. 

“LEAVE HER WITH HER OWN TRIBE. WE DON’T WANT HER HERE, SHE ENDANGERS US, OUR WAY OF LIFE, OUR CHILDREN–”

You squeak when the Clan Leader moves, his bare hand coming up quickly to wrap around the other Mando’s throat.

“You think I would endanger the children?” His voice is cold, emotionless. “Do you truly think so little of me? After everything I’ve done for our tribe, every battle I’ve fought, you still think you have any right to question me?” His voice isn’t rising in volume, but you can hear his mounting anger. “I am the Clan Leader. What I say goes. If you don’t like that, we can take this to The Pit.”

Paz sucks in a breath, and you’re about to ask what The Pit is when a hand lands on your arm. You whirl around, your whole body tense, but you relax somewhat when you realize it’s Jeye. Paz looks at her, and they seem to have a silent conversation before Paz nods, and Jeye takes your arm, leading you back and through one of the doorways behind you. 

She gestures for you to stay quiet for a moment, before leading you into a room you’ve never been in before. There’s a fire pit in the center of the room, with separate areas sectioned off with curtains for cooking and eating. She leads you further in, around one set of curtains, and your eyes land on the large bed that dominates the space. She gestures for you to sit, and once you do, she sighs deeply.

“What  _ was  _ that?” 

You’re ashamed at the way your voice shakes as though you’re scared, because you’re not. Not really. It was unsettling, seeing the argument, which you’ve realized by now was about you, although hearing the Clan Leader defend you so vehemently left a warm feeling in your belly. 

Jeye sighs again, and begins to pace. “Some of the tribe still has reservations about you being here. We’d thought they’d gotten over it, but apparently not all of them have. Doric decided that today was a good day to confront Din about it.”

You look up at Jeye in confusion. “I didn’t see Din in there. Is he okay? What happened? Is the Clan Leader mad?” Your voice is growing more frantic, as you imagine what could have happened to him. 

Jeye stops pacing, her helmet turned towards you. “Wait, what? You… you don’t know? Din never–” Jeye scoffs. “No, of course he hasn’t told you.” 

“Told me what?” 

There’s silence.

“Jeye. Din hasn’t told me  _ what _ ?”

There’s more silence, and you open your mouth to repeat yourself a third time when she speaks. 

“Din  _ is  _ the Clan Leader.” 

Your mouth snaps shut, your eyes widen comically. You open and close your mouth, trying to find the words to say… something,  _ anything _ about what you’re feeling in that moment, but all your traitorous brain can focus on is how heart-stoppingly attractive Din looked without his armor on. 

Before you can say anything, you hear the door open. Your eyes fly to the opening in the curtains, and lo and behold, there’s Din. He pauses, clearly taken aback that Jeye is here, but he doesn’t speak. Jeye nods twice, once to you and once to Din before she brushes past him and leaves the room, not staying around to try and explain the bombshell she’s just dropped on you.

Din stands in the gap between the curtains, just staring at you. You’re trying to look at his helmet, but his current state of dress is  _ extremely  _ distracting. His chest is golden and tanned, marred here and there by scars of all shapes and sizes, but it doesn’t make him any less beautiful. You can’t help but notice the trail of dark hair on his abdomen, leading to his belt buckle, which prominently features a Mudhorn, the signet of his clan. He’s wearing canvas pants, tucked into a pair of sturdy boots with a fur trim, a fur trim that matches the one on his cloak. His gloves cover his arms up to the elbow, but they’re tight enough that his muscles bulge through the fabric. 

You can feel your face  _ burning _ as you take in the Mandalorian before you, so unlike the one you’ve gotten to know for the past few weeks. The small infatuation you'd been harboring only grows as you look at Din now. He moves into the room, and you marvel at how he can move silently, despite his size. 

He stops in front of you, his gloved hand coming up to grasp gently at your chin, pulling your face up so that he can look at you. Lacing your hands together in your lap seems like the best course of action, because otherwise you might just reach out and touch him, just to see if he’s real, and you’re not sure he’d appreciate that. 

Din’s thumb rests against your cheek, stroking softly as his helmet is tilted down, looking at you. “I’m sorry you had to hear that.” His voice is quiet, apologetic, and you wonder how come you didn’t recognize it when he was arguing with the other Mando. “I promise, most of the tribe doesn’t feel that way.”

You grin, or at least, you try to. “So, when you kept saying that the Clan Leader was fine with me coming here–” 

Din nods. “Truly, I am  _ more _ than fine with you coming to the covert every day.”

You snort, your own hand coming up to rest against Din’s, which has moved to cradle your cheek. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

You turn your face into Din’s palm, placing a gentle kiss against the warm leather. You hear his sharp intake of breath through the vocoder, so you do it again. 

“I–I didn’t want you to treat me differently,” he offers, taking your hand and pulling you to your feet. He was standing so close, and now that you’re standing, you’re practically chest to chest. “I wanted to get to know you, without you feeling… obligated to treat me like a leader.”

“Why me?”

The words leave your lips before you can stop them, and you feel your cheeks heat in embarrassment. You look down, your hands absentmindedly fiddling with the worn fabric of your apron. 

Din’s hand reaches out and gently grasps yours, and you can’t help but notice that his hand can easily encompass both of yours. He curls his fingers under your chin, bringing your eyes back up, forcing you to look into his visor. 

“You’re so strong,  _ Sarad’ika _ .” His hand slid from underneath your chin, his palm moving to cup the side of your neck, his thumb gently resting against your beating pulse. “When I saw you arguing with that  _ shabuir _ in the village, even though he could easily overpower you, you weren’t afraid.” 

The intensity in his voice is doing funny things to your stomach, the feeling of butterflies increasing in strength so much so that you’re worried if you open your mouth they might escape. Your skin tingles where his hands are touching you, and you’ve never felt this before, with  _ anyone _ . 

“I–I’m sorry that my presence has caused trouble–” You quickly plow on, stopping Din from brushing aside your apology. “I know you said it’s okay, and that you’re fine with me here, but I know not everyone feels that way, and I’m sorry you had to deal with that.”

He sighs, and it’s  _ very _ hard to not look down and watch the way his chest rises and falls with his breathing. He moves his hand so that he can intertwine his fingers with yours, bringing your combined hands up to rest on his chest, directly over his heart. You suck in a breath, and his thumb gently presses against your pulse point, slowly dragging back and forth over your skin in a soothing motion. 

“I don’t care what they think,  _ Sarad’ika _ . They know I would not needlessly endanger the tribe, for them to even  _ suggest _ such a thing is unacceptable. There will always be those who do not like me, but they are few, and their voices are not as loud as it would seem.” Din gently leans his head down, careful of his horns, and rests his helmet against your brow. “I informed the tribe of my intentions. They will not dare to protest your appearance here, not now.”

Your brow furrows in confusion, although you are enjoying having Din so close. “What  _ are _ your intentions, Din?”

He chuckles softly, and you can feel it reverberating through his chest. “Is it not obvious,  _ Sarad’ika _ ? You’ve come to mean so much to me over these past few weeks, and I will confess that I do not want to let you go.”

Your heart is racing at his words, and you feel unsteady on your feet, similar to how you felt after your first time flying. 

“I know that Jeye has explained how our tribe works, and that the Clan Leader is held responsible for the continuation of the tribe.” You make a small noise of agreement, and wait for him to finish. “In times of peace, it is… customary, that the Clan Leader takes a  _ riduur _ , a spouse.” Your mouth goes dry, and your eyes widen. 

“ _ Sarad’ika _ , know that I am not asking this of you lightly. I understand that you may wish to say no, and that is your choice, and I will respect you no matter your decision.” Your breathing is shallow, and your heart is beating so fast that you’re not sure you’re going to survive the next words to come out of Din’s mouth. 

“But if you’ll have me… I would take you as my wife.” 


End file.
